


Run to You

by ssentenial



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Reincarnation, tags will be added as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-29 05:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssentenial/pseuds/ssentenial
Summary: It all started at the earliest point of history, just after Earth had come into being.-“Stars,” Jeremy says. “Your freckles look like stars.”





	1. The Beginning of Time: Location N/A

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: the reincarnation AU nobody asked for

It all started at the earliest point of history, just after Earth had come into being.

Jeremy was a child of gods. His heart was made of stardust and cosmos, and his laughter sounded like twinkling bells which resonated throughout the galaxy. A joyful young boy, he would mold creatures out of the rubble of space and breathe life into them with his father, and sew garments made from bits and pieces of the Milky Way with his mother.

Despite this, Jeremy was a lonely god. His loneliness would prevent him from doing his job, and no form of scolding or tender conversation could fix that.

His father decided to bring a young human from Earth, hoping that he would provide Jeremy with adequate companionship. When he brought Jeremy to see him, the young god couldn’t help but immediately become fond of the human.

His father gestures towards the human. “This is Michael.”

Michael shuffled nervously where he stood, his eyes refusing to meet Jeremy's.

“No need to be shy,” Jeremy’s father says. “Say hello.”

Jeremy walks up to the young boy, and tilts his head in curiosity. Michael was so different, so human, so new. His hair was a dark shade of brown, like wet soil, and his skin had warm tones akin to clay, with freckles that kinda looked like--

“Stars,” Jeremy says. “Your freckles look like stars.”

\--

They are an inseparable pair, never wandering anywhere without the other around. The gods acknowledge them as a duo, always Jeremy and Michael, as they ran throughout the universe.

Michael is no longer human, but carries memories of his mortal life from long ago. When Jeremy asks him about it, eyes twinkling in curiosity and delight, Michael can't help but oblige.

“I lived on an island,” Michael whispered to Jeremy as his father rested behind them. “It was hot, and humid, and always sunny. My mother would carry my sister on her back as she worked in the fields, harvesting food. Me and my dad would also work alongside her.”

“Were you all close?”

“Of course. I was the oldest, so I’d always comfort my sister whenever there was a storm.”

“A storm? Like a snowstorm?”

“...What’s a snowstorm?”

Jeremy immediately jumped up and held out his hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

\--

Michael stared at the sky, the ground, the treetops, in awe. White, powdery snow covered the pine branches and ground. It fell from the sky, and Michael tried to grab a tiny snowflake, only to be surprised when it melted into liquid in his hand.

Jeremy looked upon his friend with admiration. Michael looked back at him, his face lit up in wonder. “It’s wonderful. Thank you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s heart did something funny, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss his best friend.

\--

Michael was truly a being of wonders. Even when the children of other gods would talk to Jeremy, he always found his thoughts gravitating towards his friend. Which he would express to his good friend Christine, the daughter of the Goddess of Art.

He was in the middle of describing how he felt when he was with Michael in the snow when Christine interrupted him. “Do you love Michael?” She asks him, her soft pink eyes twinkling in amusement. 

Jeremy’s face turned warm, and he looked away. “I’m afraid I don't know what you mean,” he mumbled. “Michael’s my friend.”

“You wanted to kiss him,” she reminded him. “That’s not very platonic. Besides, almost all the gods think you two are an item.”

Jeremy covered his face in embarrassment, letting out a loud groan. “Even if I did, I doubt he’d return my feelings.”

Christine shrugs. “You’d never know until you try. Now run along. Next time, you should go ask Jenna for this sort of advice.”

\--

Jeremy finds Michael in his quarters with a small stringed instrument in his arms. Jeremy hops onto his bed, snuggling right next to his friend. “What’s that?”

Michael smiles. “It’s a ukulele. Christine’s mother gave it to me, and taught me how to play it.”

“...Can you play it for me?”

“Of course,” Michael chuckles. He starts to pluck a happy tune.

“ _Pretty girl with the butterscotch hair_  
Your eyes and the sunshine smile you wear  
I can see how you make his soul glow.

_Pretty girl with the adventurous mind_  
You envision so much you make me look blind  
You spark his life in ways I’ll never know. ”

Michael stops and glances at Jeremy, gazing at him expectantly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “It’s making me nervous.”

Jeremy grins. “You look peaceful, that’s all.” Michael’s face turns red, but he rolls his eyes and continues.

“ _And I won’t hate you, but oh it stings_  
How does it feel to be adored by him  
And I won’t hate you, but oh it stings  
How does it feel to be adored by him…?”

Jeremy sits up. “You have a nice singing voice. How come you don't use it so often?”

Michael’s face reddens once again, and he shrugs. “I, uh. Never found the need to.”

The young god rolls over onto his back. “What a shame. I wish I could sing like that.”

“Oh shush you,” Michael sighs, flicking his friend in the head. “Your singing voice is more than satisfactory. You could beguile any lady with a song if you wanted to.”

“...Well I’d be much happier if I managed to beguile you.”

They sit there, staring at each other for a minute with red faces. Jeremy reached a hand up to his lips. “...Oh.”

Michael nods. “Oh indeed.”

Jeremy sits up in a panic. “Michael, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t reciprocate my feelings so--”

“What are you talking about?” Michael laughed. “Calm down Jeremy, I’m having one of the best moments of my life over here.”

He blinks in confusion. “What?”

Michael leans in close, very close. Not that Jeremy minds. “You had beguiled me a long time ago, Jeremy,” Michael chuckles. “And you didn't even have to sing.”

Jeremy pauses before giggling with joy. “That’s good to hear,” he whispers as the space between their lips disappears.

It’s wet, awkward, and kind of gross, but Jeremy couldn’t ask for a better first kiss.

\--

It’s dark. Jeremy and Michael are lying down in their quarters, watching the stars surround them. Michael is in the middle of telling another story. This time, it’s about the different flowers he would see around his island.

“Do you remember how you came here?” Jeremy asks him.

Michael shakes his head. “It’s all quite fuzzy. But I remember that I was in the forest by my home when I first saw your father.”

“...Would you like to visit that forest again some day?”

Michael smiles. “Of course.”

They fall asleep in each other's arms.

\--

Jeremy finds Michael in that forest the next day, standing still in front of a stone altar. “Michael?” He calls out. “What’s wrong?” When Michael does not reply, Jeremy walks to his side.

Michael points to the stone altar with a shaking hand. Jeremy follows his hand, and immediately realizes that the stone table is splattered in dried blood. His stomach fills up with dread.

“I remember now,” Michael whispers. “How I came to you.”

\--

Jeremy is fuming; his hair seems to lift away from his face and fly around in anger. His eyes are almost glowing with heat, and his knuckles were turning white from being clenched.

“You weren’t doing your job,” his father explains. “You were brain dead! How else was I going to get someone your age to keep you company?!”

“You shouldn’t have told humans to give you a fucking sacrifice!” Jeremy spits back. “A family lost their first child because of you! He was only five years old! Michael deserved to live a happy life with his own family!”

“They were going to die anyway! What’s the point of staying a mortal if you could be a god forever? Besides, you needed someone, Jeremy.”

“This isn’t what I _wanted_!” Jeremy stomped his foot, and the galaxy trembled.

His father scowled. “It appears I’ve spoiled you a bit too much. You’ll pay for your ungratefulness with your lover.”

In an instant, Jeremy’s anger dissipates and turns into fear. “No,” he mutters. “No, you can’t take him away from me.”

“Or what?”

“I won’t ever breathe life into another living being for as long as I live.”

\--

Michael nods in understanding. He always does. “It’s okay Jeremy. You were angry.”

“We can’t see each other for half of the year now,” Jeremy sniffs. “And it was because I couldn’t control myself.” 

Michael wipes the tears away from his boyfriend’s eyes. “I was angry at you,” Michael sighed. “I’m not going to lie. But I’ve forgiven you now. Let’s be thankful that he’s letting us see each other at all, okay?”

Jeremy nods and embraces him. “Promise me,” Jeremy mumbles, “that we’ll always meet each other again and again, in every lifetime we have. Promise me that we’ll keep searching for each other until nothing can separate us anymore.”

Michael kisses the top of Jeremy’s head. “Of course.”

\--

The first day of Fall came. Jeremy couldn’t tear his eyes off Michael as he was carried away.

“Promise me, Michael!” He yelled out to him.

Michael’s tears started to fall. “Promise! I love you!”

Jeremy’s voice cracked. “I love you too!”

He stayed until he couldn’t see him anymore. The leaves around him turned into shades of yellow, orange, and red.


	2. 16th Century; Kingdom of Sol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again, as good friends once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back baby

The universe let them meet again, as good friends once more.

\--

The Royal Family was comprised of seven members, the most important ones being Antonio Mell, Sofia Mell, and Michael Mell. Antonio was ruler of the kingdom of Sol, Sofia Mell was his favorite (yet unhappy) bride, and Michael Mell was Antonio’s only son out of his 7 other children.

Michael was the most treasured out Antonio’s eight offspring, but ended up becoming the most sheltered. As his older sisters were married off and traveled the world, the young prince stayed in his castle all day. He was taught manners and proper dining etiquette, he read books that far surpassed the comprehension of a boy his age, he was told how to spot a liar and how to turn into one. After an entire day of lessons, he would stay in his room and gaze at the kingdom around him, dreaming of exploring it someday.

And on the night of his 14th birthday, when everyone in the castle was asleep and his mother and father were overseas, Michael slipped on a hooded cloak and snuck out of his stone cage to make his dream come true.

\--

The young prince stood to the sides of the street, in awe of the lively nightlife. The castle grounds were always silent at night, except for the sound of crickets in the summer. But this was different.

The people were still celebrating his birthday. Michael slipped into a random open door, which happened to be the entrance to a busy bar. He didn’t want to drink (he looked far too young to deceive the owner), but he stayed to listen to the drunk soldiers crying out “Long live the prince! Happy Birthday to his majesty!” It made Michael smile as he sat down at a small table. It was nice to get a genuine (albeit drunken) happy birthday for once.

“Are you all going to continue doing this?”

A young, yet snarky voice, cuts through the inebriated soldiers laughter. The bar is quiet for a beat before one of the larger soldiers takes a step forward, his words melding together.

“The hell’re ya talkin’ about here?”

Michael follows the soldier’s gaze and sees a boy as old as him, sitting at another small table near the end of the bar. It hits Michael that the kid’s name is actually Heere (what an odd name). His pale skin and baby blue eyes contrasts against the appearance of most residents in the Sol kingdom, and Michael can't help but be intrigued by this mysterious “Heere”.

“The entire kingdom is aware that the King’s favorite child is his son,” the boy explains, putting down what seemed to be a glass of milk. “To gain the king's favor, you only have to kiss up to the prince. And considering the extraordinarily long time it's been since the army has had a raise, it appears you all are getting desperate.”

The soldier’s eye twitches. Heere hit the nail on its head. “...Whaddya sayin?”

Heere rolls his eyes. “You have no other reason to mooch off the king's son, considering the kingdom has never heard his voice or seen his face. So that means you're looking for a way to grab the king's favor, through his offspring.”

Michael is simultaneously hurt and impressed. Heere’s distrust of the people who protect the royal family is a little hurtful, but he obviously must be smart to know that the army hasn't gotten a raise in years. Although, his brains have seemingly turned on him, as his comments have riled up the strong soldier.

One of the more sober soldiers senses this and tries to diffuse the situation. “Kid, go home. You’re not even drinking yet; don't talk about things you don't know.”

“I don't need to drink alcohol to see that you’re kissing the prince's ass.”

“That does it,” the angry soldier mutters, standing up from his chair to march over to Heere. He grabs the boy by his shirt and stares into his eyes. “You're asking for it now, fuckface. If you’re going to talk like a man, fight like a man.”

The entire bar is silent, and Michael wants to scream. The fight is unfair, and everyone knows, so why isn't anyone stopping them? The prince glances at Heere, and in his eyes, behind the cold gaze and resentment, he can see a hint of… fear?

It's almost silent, but a quiet whimper escapes Heere’s lips. The pitiful sound compels Michael to do something, anything, even if it's just saying--

“Leave him alone.”

He murmurs it, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. The soldier turns toward Michael, eyes narrowing. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Two heartbeats. “Yes.” Michael says, louder. “I said, leave him alone.”

The soldier immediately drops Heere and strides towards Michael. The prince sees the punch coming, and dodges it, wincing at the new hole in the wall. He sees the soldier grimace, and as the soldier steps back, Michael swings his foot into his leg, toppling the larger opponent. As the bar plunges into chaos, the prince hops over chairs and tables. His foot lands the wrong way, and he let out a sharp cry as he feels the jabbing pain in his ankle.

As he limps to the door, he vaguely hears Heere yelling and a soldier roaring to his right. He only sees the soldier’s face for a second before a sharp blow to his temple knocks him out.

\--

Michael wakes up with his eyes shut, a comforting warmth enveloping his body.

“Ah,” he thinks to himself. “A dream. I’ll open my eyes and I’ll be back in my chambers, in my linens.”

He opens his eyes, and he couldn't have been more wrong. He is still in the clothes he sneaked out in, but one of his pant legs have been cut off. His ankle was wrapped tightly with a bandage, and his cloak was draped over the bed frame. A sharp pain throbs throughout his head, and as he slides a hand over his temples, he feels the sore bruise. Badass. Dad is going to be pissed.

Michael freezes. Dad. Castle. Morning.

He immediately swings his legs over the bed, leaning over to grab his cloak before someone walks in.

“And just where do you think you're going?”

The prince freezes. The boy in the bar-- Heere-- is standing in the doorway, with a raised eyebrow and a bucket of… something. The boy leans against the doorframe.

“If you're thinking of taking off, could you wait a bit? I need to make sure you know how to heal your ankle.”

“I know how to take care of a sprained ankle, thanks.” Heere narrows his eyes at him in suspicion. The prince rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Alright, fine. I don't actually know. Please help me.”

The corner of Heere’s lips curl into a smile. “Y’know, if you had shut up I might've believed you.” He kneels at the foot of the bed and starts to remove the bandage. “You’re a good liar, uh….?”

“Call me M.”

“Em? Like, Emmett?”

“Nah,” Michael waves his hand. “Just the letter M.”

“Ooh, how mysterious. If we’re going with that, you might as well call me Heere like everyone else does.”

The prince pouts. “Well that's just unfair.”

Heere snorts. “Not really. Tell you what, since you wanna keep your name a secret, let's make a deal.” The stranger unwraps the last of the bandage and stared into Michael’s eyes with a steel gaze. “I’ll tell you my full name, if you tell me your first name. Okay?”

Michael knows that he should shut up at this point. Revealing a part of his identity could have dire consequences, and if it were any other normal person, he would've flat out refused. But Heere is different. Michael feels like he's known Heere for millenniums, as if he’s gained his trust over years and years of friendship. It couldn't be so bad to give him at least his first name, right?

Fuck it.

“My name is Michael,” he mumbles.

Heere’s steel stare melts a little, and he smiles the tiniest bit. Michael can't help but take pleasure in watching his mask melt away, to reveal a face lighting up in delight. “Michael. Like the prince?”

“Yeah.”

“...Are y--”

“No, I’m not the prince. Don't even try.”

Heere chuckles, and something in Michael's chest flutters (from anxiety, probably). “Well, Michael. I must keep my part of the deal, so hello. My name is Jeremy Heere. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Jeremy Heere, the pleasure is all mine.”

Jeremy. The name feels nice and familiar on his tounge. Michael had a feeling that Jeremy Heere has the potential to be a precious companion.

Sneaking out and scaring the wits out of Michael’s father was completely worth it.

\--

“Hey. Michael. Wake up.”

Michael can only let out an incoherent mumble. “Five more minutes.”

“Geez, I come here all the way to wake you up for a birthday surprise, and this is how you treat me?”

The prince opens his eyes a crack, and is greeted with the sight of a very excited Jeremy bouncing on his bed. “Hi Jer.”

“Happy 16th birthday Mikey!” Jeremy yells. Michael shushes him.

“Shut the fuck up, I don't need people to know that you broke into my room!”

“Aww, who cares? They're all asleep anyway.”

“If you keep talking like that you’ll wake them all up.” Michael sighs and sits up in his bed. “But anyway, thank you for wishing me happy birthday. I was almost scared that you forgot.”

“I’d never! Why’d you think I'd ever forget your birthday? Today was the day we met!”

Michael shrugged. “If my dad can forget my birthday, then anything is possible. But that's not important; what's the surprise you got me?”

Jeremy's cheeky grin suddenly turns shy. “Well, it's sneaking into your room at midnight, and also this.” He holds out a small, hand-stitched stuffed rabbit in his hands. “You said you really wanted one of these, but you never got them. So I tried making one for you but it didn't turn out as well as I thou--”

Michael suddenly embraces Jeremy. “Thank you, Jer. I love it. It's our child now.”

Jeremy pats Michael’s head. “Aww, thanks Michael. I knew you’d like it, you dork… wait, are you crying?”

The prince pulls away, and wipes off a stray tear. “N-no. I'm fine, I'm just. Really happy. I’ve never gotten a gift as genuine as this. Does he have a name?”

Jeremy shrugs. “No. I figured you should do the honors. So, what are you going to name our little prince?”

“Hmmmm… you name him.”

“What? Why me?”

“You created him. You're practically the mother.”

“Uh, no. We are both fathers. In this house we both take responsibility for our child.” Jeremy flops next to Michael. “But seriously, you name him. I gave him to you.”

“Touché,” Michael replies, raising up the stuffed rabbit. “O precious bunny rabbit, given life by this lovely gentleman beside me--”

Jeremy's face turns red. “Jesus Christ.”

“--I shall call you… Leonardo. Leo for short. Because you were born in the kingdom of Sol, and the sun is associated with lions because astrology and yadda yadda it’s a fuckin cool name. May god bless you, young Leonardo.”

Jeremy giggles helplessly. “Thank god, I thought you were going to name him Donglord or something.”

The prince clutches his heart in mock hurt. “O ye of little faith, how you wound me so! I would never inflict such a curse unto my kin!” Michael then strokes his imaginary beard. “But… now that you’ve planted the seed of the idea in my mind, the temptation lurks in the shadows.”

“No, don't do this to Leo!”

“Leo? I think you mean Donglord Maxmillian Mell the First?”

They both burst into a fit of muffled laughter. Jeremy manages to stop first. His soft smile is illuminated by the candlelight. “Say, Michael. Do you believe in the afterlife?”

The prince shrugs. “Kinda. I've made up my own conclusions about it. Why?”

“I’m just curious. Can you tell me your theory?”

Michael shifts in his spot on the bed. “...When someone dies, they go up to heaven, yeah? So, what I think is, everyone who dies turns into a star. Or some other sparkling deity in the sky. Because there's just so many of them! And they're all different!”

“They all look the same to me,” Jeremy deadpans.

“Well, I read this book written by one of my dad’s scientists, and she said that every star and planet is different, but they're so far away that we can't tell. Cool, right?”

Jeremy grins. “You're such a nerd.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You're just charming, is all.”

Michael is glad that the dim light doesn't show his heated face. “W-Well, do you believe in an afterlife?”

Jeremy is silent for a beat. “Well, I think that when we die, we are reincarnated. And we keep getting reincarnated, living different lives, until we find happiness.”

“That's a nice theory.”

Jeremy hums in agreement. “This is kinda dumb, but… I like to think we met in a past life before. I think we were friends in that life too. And the universe was kind enough to let us meet again.”

Michael snorts. “I can't believe you called me a nerd before saying that.”

“Shut up.” Jeremy rolls his eyes. “But really, I hope we meet again in another life. And if we don't, I’ll keep looking for you throughout all the rest of my lifetimes.”

Michael is vaguely unimpressed, and is thinking about where he's going to put Leo, but he can't resist smiling at Jeremy's sincerity. “Then I’ll do the same.”

It's the best birthday Michael ever has.

\--

“You’re here.”

The prince smiles at his old friend, with a warmth reserved for only the closest of comrades. “Of course. There's nowhere else I’d rather be.” He hops onto the top of the rock Jeremy’s sitting on and lies down next to him. “Your hair is getting really long.”

Jeremy smiles and twirls a lock of his hair between his fingers. The ash-brown strands, usually pulled into a ponytail, were haphazardly strewn over his back and reached down to his butt. “I know. But I kinda like how it looks. What do you think?”

Michael eyes his friend. Jeremy's hair draped over his eye, giving it a sort of artistic impression. He had aged well; puberty turned his once childish features, for a lack of better words, pretty. The enamoured king coughs into his hand. Focus. “I think you look wonderful with long hair.”

Jeremy smiles at him as if he gave him the moon and stars. It's stunning. He's stunning. “Thank you. How was your week?”

“Busy,” Michael sighs. “The battle is coming up soon. I have to prepare. How about you?”

“Also busy,” Jeremy replies with a shrug. “I have to gather supplies. And my apprentice is really anxious; this is his first time doing field work.”

Michael nods. “Tell him that the king wished him good luck.”

It's been 8 years since they first met, and both of them are older now; a bit wiser. Michael was no longer a prince; he was crowned king after his father died in battle. Jeremy was no longer a nobody, but a renowned doctor who worked for the military. Michael still had his childlike curiosity and optimism, and Jeremy still had his wit and bite. But they were older now, and much busier, so they would meet in the forest now and then to talk without being watched by the court’s judging eye.

The forest was beautiful. They were in a small clearing with a rock in the middle, and the colors of autumn were painted throughout the trees. It was quiet and secluded, perfect for a quiet chat between two friends.

“I really do love the colors of autumn,” Jeremy comments, staring off into the forest. “It reminds me of my old home.”

Michael turns toward him. “You never talk about it.”

“Well, there's no need to. It's not there anymore.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” Jeremy sighs, waving his hand in dismissal. “I’m sure nothing good will come out of remembering the place.”

“...Don't you at least remember your family?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Only a little. My mother died after childbirth. After that, my dad took care of me for 4 years. But then one day, he went into the forest with a knife and just… disappeared. Then it was just me and my caretaker for a while.”

“What was your caretaker like?”

Jeremy is silent for a moment, contemplating his words. “Cold. Authoritative. When he spoke, it was like his words were cutting through me. He found my passion for medicine disappointing. And sometimes, well, he tried to change me.”

“Change you?”

“Turn me into a soldier. He’d tell me that I’m pitiful and terrible, and say that the only way to fix myself is to listen to him. He sometimes got hot metal and tried to burn me with it. He said it would increase my pain threshold.”

“...This sounds like abuse, Jeremy.”

“I know. But back then, I couldn't escape it. I didn't want to. He was all I had. And he told me I was pitiful so many times that, well. I started to believe him.”

Jeremy looks down at his nails, eyes dull and steely. “I only escaped when he got himself killed. He drank something on a dare, and the drink turned out to be the dew of Mount Red.”

Michael winces. “Yikes.”

“Yeah. Killed him on the spot. By his will, I was sent to fight in the army. I couldn't fight, but I could be a bitter asshole. So that's what I did, to protect myself. And then, one day, I almost got killed because of it. Until you showed up. The rest is history.”

They stay quiet or a bit, letting the rustle of the trees fill in the silence. Michael looked down at the rock he sat upon. Jeremy had opened up to him, after eight long years of friendship. This obviously wasn't a conversation he could have with just anybody. And yet, why can't Michael find it in himself to say anything? 

“Jeremy… I’m sorry. You’ve never had a person who ever truly loved you. But I’m glad that you trusted me enough to tell me this.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “No, Michael. That's not true anymore.” His face flushes red. “You're here now. And I’m grateful to have a friend like you, who's willing to listen to a loser like me.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy mumbles, leaning on Michael. Michael finds himself leaning on him too, and they're so close that it's almost uncomfortable.

“Is this okay?” Michael whispers.

“Yeah. Can I hold your hand?”

Michael holds out his hand, and Jeremy takes it. The young king knew that they were crossing a line. Their relationship wasn't as platonic as they made it out to be (was it ever?). But he found himself surprisingly okay with it. It was as if something clicked in that moment. As if he just placed the final piece of a puzzle. Everything just felt right.

“I wish you luck for the next battle,” Michael murmurs. “Come back safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

\--

A year later, Michael sat by his window, listening to the cries of his wounded soldiers and the distant march of an enemy army. He had a wound on his arm and hand, which were both being quickly tended to by Jeremy. In the brief moment of peace Michael had, he observed the skillful movement of his medic’s hands, and the blood on his uniform which wasn't his own. As Jeremy hastily finished dressing the cut on his hand, he could feel the hands of his dear friend trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Michael murmured, brushing away stray strands of hair from Jeremy’s face. “Are you scared?”

Jeremy nods, his face stone cold. “I’m terrified. And you?”

“I… am full of regrets.” Michael’s expression turns uncharacteristically serious. “But enough about me. I'm more worried about you.”

A wry smile. “You taught me how to fight, and you’re basically the best in the army.” Jeremy squeezes his hand. “I’m more than okay. But you're holding back, as always.”

He presses his head to Michael's. “This may be the last time we see each other. Just talk to me. I don't think you have anything to lose.”

A moment of silence passes. The king anxiously rubs circles into his friends hand, his expression turning sorrowful. “I’m so sorry. To the soldiers who lost their friends. To the families who have lost their loved ones. To this entire kingdom. I’ve killed them all.”

“Hey now,” Jeremy whispers, pulling his comrade close. “C’mere.”

Michael is shaking, but he refuses to cry. “I’m furious as well. I’m furious at my father for stealing my childhood away from me. I’m furious at myself for allowing this kingdom to fall. I'm furious at the universe for separating us like this.”

“I never asked for this,” the king sobs. Hot tears blur his vision and he wants to crawl into himself (it's fucking humiliating), but Jeremy doesn't say anything and just keeps holding him. God, he loves this man. “I didn't ask to be king. I just wanted to have a happy life. I'm sorry.”

They lay there in silence for a bit, listening to each other's heartbeats. Even though Michael is still shaking with sobs, it's nice, and warm, and a moment that he wishes would last forever.

The door opens. “Your majesty, we must go.”

“Start escorting my mother out of the castle,” Michael replies from his position on Jeremy’s lap. “I’ll follow.”

“...Very well, your majesty.” The door shuts, and Jeremy nudges his king with a grunt. 

“Hey. We have to go now.”

Michael nods, still sniffling. “I know.” The strong, bright eyed boy that Michael once was, is now replaced with a broken child. “I’m sorry for dumping that all on you.”

“Don't be,” Jeremy replied, grabbing his sword. 

Michael ties a rope onto his bed and throws the rest out of a window. “Well, it's time. I hope we meet again, Jeremy.”

Jeremy stares at Michael with an unrecognizable expression. Then, as if he was afraid of him running away, he leans in slowly and softly pecks him on the cheek.

“I hope so as well,” Jeremy whispers, smiling softly. “Go now. I love you.”

“Ah,” Michael thinks. “So that’s the word for it.”

As he runs away, Michael yells back, “I love you too!”

\--

A lost king stands in the middle of a winter crowd, his face concealed. The remnants of a kingdom are watching, waiting with bated breath as the last of the Royal Family’s court is executed.

A government official for the enemy kingdom reads off the name of the executed and their role in the castle before the executor releases the guillotine.

Names go by, and the lost king recognizes each one of them. Jennifer Rolan, a spy for the kingdom. A lovely lady, who always there for him. He forces himself to watch when the guillotine falls. Jacob Dillinger and Richard Goranski, the bodyguards for the king. Rich was a dear friend of his, but he refuses to look away. This is his fault. This is his punishment. Christine Canigula, and Chloe Valentine; entertainers for the king. They were always so full of life and giggly energy, but the war had torn it out of them. Michael had torn it from them, and it was all his fault. Brooke Lohst, the king’s bride-to-be. She didn't deserve any of what she got.

“Jeremy Heere.”

The king gasps softly; it’s barely audible.

“The king’s doctor, and reportedly, his lover.”

A murmur runs through the crowd, and the king watches with a turning stomach. Jeremy's face is bruised and bloody, and his long hair that the king was so fond of has been chopped off hastily. The king wants to throw up, he wants to cry and scream and plead for Jeremy’s life.

“Your fault,” he thinks to himself. “This is your punishment. Don't you dare look away.”

Jeremy's eyes sweep over the crowd, and stop over the king. They make eye contact for a brief moment, and he doesn't breathe.

“Last words?”

Jeremy smiles sadly, relief spreading over his face. “Long live the king.”

He can't look when the sickening crack of the blade resounds throughout the square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this after someone recommended this fic on tumblr
> 
> u know who u are
> 
> ily


	3. Lost Timelines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, their circumstances aren't quite right.

It's rare, but sometimes, when they meet, the circumstances are not quite right.

\--

September 27, 2004

Jeremy stands silently at the front door. The doorknob, which he never dared to touch, was right in his grasp. And yet, the ball of dread in his gut kept growing. With an anxious squeeze of his backpack straps, he finally grabs the doorknob and opens the front door. Its hinges swing silently; they were greased by Jeremy himself. He had spent weeks preparing for this. There was no going back now.

He steps out, and takes a deep breath. The fresh air calms his nerves. It's been so long since he's been outside. The cold evening breeze is almost therapeutic. Almost.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy turns around, and sees a wide eyed Michael is standing in the front doorway. He's completely still. 

Jeremy's stomach drops. “I’m just going to the 7/11. I’ll be back,” he lies.

His boyfriend (?) eyes the heavy backpack on his back. “Why do you have that?”

“No reason in particular.” Jeremy is acutely aware of the sweat gathering underneath his palms. The cold night air is still blowing in, and there's no sound in the house except for the air conditioner and Michael’s breathing. The look on his face is unreadable, and it scares Jeremy.

“Jeremy,” Michael mutters, eyes turning dark. “You're not… leaving me, are you?”

Jeremy shakes his head wildly. “No, no that's not it--” He doesn't even finish before Michael's fist is wrapped around his wrist. He struggles against Michael’s grip. “Michael-!”

“Jeremy.” His voice is dark and dangerous. “Where are you going, Jeremy. Tell me.” He giggles, and it turns hysterical. “Tell me, won't you?” His grip tightens so fiercely it makes Jeremy flinch.

Michael shakes his head furiously. “I won't let the universe separate us ever again! Don't you remember what happened last time?” He cocks his head, a dazed smile on his face. “Don't you remember your dad’s punishment? Or the war? Or Leo, our son?”

Tears well up in his eyes. He's delusional. Jeremy shakes his head. “Michael, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Please, just let me--”

“Jeremy…” The tears fall, but Jeremy fails to feel sympathy. Only fear. “Don't you remember our promise?”

“Michael,” Jeremy whimpers, “Please let go, you're hurting me.”

He doesn't let go.

\--

May 14, 1996

“What’re you looking at?”

Jeremy wakes up, startled. His longtime friend Christine is peering over his shoulder at the book he was reading before he fell asleep.

“H-Hey!” Jeremy hurriedly shuts the book, face burning up. “Stop looking at my stuff!”

“Aww, were you reading another M. Mell book?” Christine giggles. “Well, I can't blame you. Mell’s work is truly amazing. I personally think that Sky was his best book, but I really like his short stories too! The short stories are so beautifully written, I actually cried when I first read Holding Out it was so good--”

“Christine, I thought you were a theater student.”

“Well yeah, but Shakespeare is a vital part of both theater and literature! That, and I love to read. I also joined book club in highschool and we had to read Sky as an assignment, and I also might have a small obsession with reading every book that's recommended to me-- wait. We were talking about something else before, weren't we?”

“Yeah, about how great of a writer M. Mell is.”

“Oh! Right! Well, what I like the most about his work is how descriptive he is. The similes can be a little long sometimes, but it might just be part of his style. I dunno. What do you like about his writing?”

Jeremy rubs the back of his head and blushes. He didn't want to stop Christine from going on her rather adorable tangents, but M. Mell was an author that held a place deep in his heart. If the opportunity to nerd out over Mell’s writing came, Jeremy would take it with zest.

“Well, I really love how he captures the feelings of heartache and loneliness so well in all his books.” Jeremy leans back and pushes his reading glasses up his nose. “I think… I can understand what he was trying to express. It felt… familiar?”

“Wow, really? That's… kinda worrying.”

“Well, it's not as bad as it sounds.” Jeremy leans in closer to Christine and lowers his voice. “Have you ever felt like… you don't belong? Well that's stupid, you probably have, but this is different. It's like… you weren't supposed to exist in this world. You're supposed to be somewhere else, but it's like the universe is trying to pull you away from something. It's like missing a long lost lover; despite the fact that you don't have one. Am I making any sense?”

“...Not really.”

“Thought so.”

Christine smiles and sits down next to Jeremy. “Hey Jeremy. Say you could go to some sort of spirit world, or go back in time to 1957… and talk to Mell. What would you say to him? I’d ask him what inspired him to write.”

“Hmm. I would ask that, yeah, but I’d also ask… why he killed himself.”

Christine raises an eyebrow. “Jeremy, that's not the type of question you should ask a dead person.”

“It's still a question I want answered,” Jeremy explains. “I just... want to know why. He had so much going for him. He was 24, and already so talented and well off.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Of course, this would come after all the fanboying.”

Christine laughs, and Jeremy goes back to reading. In a few years, the conversation is forgotten.

But the love for the author stayed with Jeremy. It stayed until he died in the comfy armchair of a nursing home, a copy of Sky by M. Mell in his lap.

\--

September 15, 1938

Michael was only 5, playing by himself on the floor of the living room like always when he heard one of his mother’s conversations.

“Did you hear about Mr. Heere a few houses down? 

“No, what happened?”

“Apparently, his son Jeremy had just died. I heard it was a chronic illness.”

Suddenly, Michael couldn't move. He felt a sharp pain in his heart, as if someone just torn off a part of it.

“Oh goodness, that's awful. Right after the divorce as well. The boy was only 5, no?”

“Yes, such a young child…”

He started to cry, wailing loudly. His mother immediately frets. “Michael? What's wrong Michael dear?” She quickly inspects her son, expecting an injury, but she doesn't find one.

She cradles her son in her arms, a bewildered expression painted on her face. “Michael?”

Michael doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't understand why or how, but he feels as if an important part of him has been destroyed.

\--

Time Unknown, Place N/A

“It's strange,” Jeremy sighs, “how I always seem to love the most dangerous people on this god forsaken planet.” He cocks his gun. “Wouldn't you agree, Mikey?”

The man in front of him smiles warily, his finger hovering over the trigger. “I could say the same thing about myself.”

Silence. “I don't think I can do it,” Jeremy mumbles. “You shoot.”

“No.”

“Michael, please.” Jeremy laughs, but there's no humor in it. 

“Why did things turn out this way?” Michael whispers. His hands, usually steady and firm, now trembled as he tightened his grip on the pistol.

“...I don't know.” Jeremy aims. “Next time will be better, I promise.” 

Two gunshots ring throughout the alleyway, and two corpses drop to the ground.

\--

June 16, 1955

Jeremy kicks his feet up on the table in front of him. The venue his father rented is packed, and everyone is drunk and dancing. The stench of tobacco is filling his senses, but Jeremy doesn't cough. After being around the scent for his entire life, he's become used to it.

Upbeat music thrums throughout the small bar. Jeremy watches drunk members of the family dance with young women on the dance floor. He glances at his father, who's taking a long drag of his cigar. They make eye contact.

“You're not going to dance?”

Jeremy turns away. “Nope. Not feelin’ it tonight. And there's nobody I want to dance with.”

His father grunts in disappointment. “Shame. You're good at it.”

Jeremy scans the floor, watching bar patrons carefully. Although the dance floor was crowded, they all seemed to have a partner who they stuck with. All of them except one.

A man, with a flushed face and giggly demeanor, is dancing as if he was going to die tomorrow. His shirt was partly unbuttoned and untucked, revealing his toned chest. His tie was tossed aside, and the dim lights reflected off his glasses. Although intoxicated, he moved with skill and passion. It was quite entrancing. 

Jeremy was fascinated. And slightly turned on.

Jeremy nudges his father. “Do you know who that is?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Probably some drunken sap who just happened to wander… What are you doing?”

Jeremy has already taken off his suit jacket and is loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. “I'm going to dance.”

He walks onto the dancefloor, ignoring the cry of protest from his father and takes the hand of the drunken man.

It appeared that he was in the middle of a conversation. The man is immediately disoriented, and the bewildered look he wore made Jeremy’s heart melt. The girl he was talking to looked confused, and a little disappointed. Jeremy smiles at her with faux sweetness. “My apologies. I’ll only steal him away for a bit.”

As they walk away, the man giggles. “A bit? Really?”

“No,” Jeremy laughs along. He suddenly pulls the man close as his expression turns sultry. “I’ll steal you away for the whole night. If you’ll allow me, that is.”

The man narrows his eyes and grins playfully. “Ah, ah, ah. Impress me first.” With that, Jeremy is pulled to the dance floor.

He's breathless. Jeremy can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and as he moved to the music, he could barely keep up with the mystery man. Dim lights crossed over the man's face, revealing coy smiles and playful glances. As he felt his heart beat faster, Jeremy found himself helplessly captivated. 

“You’re good at this,” Jeremy pants, energy running low. At this rate, he'd have no energy for what he planned to do later. “Who are you?”

“Michael,” the man says. Michael bats his eyes and leans in close to Jeremy, and Jeremy can feel the goosebumps on his arms. “But Boss calls me his Greatest Distraction.”

A shotgun rings throughout the bar, and Jeremy doesn't need to look around to find who was shot. He can already see the red seeping through his shirt.

\--

October 23, 2003

Jeremy quickly makes his way through the crowd. He has 4 shopping bags in one hand, and a chatty fiancé holding the other. Her enthusiastic chatter distracts him and he doesn't notice the young man he accidentally bumps into.

He’s carrying a tower of 4 boxes, which immediately topple over. Jeremy rushes to his side.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?”

His fiancé tilts her head. “Oh, did you hurt your head?”

The young man lifts his head from the pavement. He rubs the spot of impact tenderly as he smiles at the couple in reassurance. “I’m fine. There was nothing fragile in those things.” He straightens his glasses as he stands up to pick up the boxes, and Jeremy and his fiancé quickly pick up three of them.

“Oh,” the young man says as Jeremy places the three boxes in his arms. “Thank you. Sorry to interrupt your date.”

Jeremy waves his hand in dismissal. “It's alright! It was my fault for not looking. Did you just move here?”

The young man nods. “Yeah. My name’s Michael. It's nice to meet you.”

“Hello Michael!” The fiancé giggles. “I'm Christine, and this is my fiancé Jeremy! I'm sorry he bumped into you, he tends to zone out sometimes.”

Michael smiles and nods at Jeremy and Christine. “Congratulations. You two look very happy.”

“We are,” Jeremy sighs, his insides turning warm and fuzzy at the thought of his wedding. “I’m such a lucky guy.”

Christine stands on her tippy-toes to peck Jeremy on the cheek. “And I’m a lucky girl.”

Jeremy's lovesick high is interrupted by the realization that Michael was still there. His face heats up as he turns towards Michael. “W-Well, we have to get going now. If you need us, we're just down the block in Bridgett Apartments! See you around, Michael!”

Michael nods slowly, his facial expression turning puzzled. “Right. Nice meeting you guys.”

Jeremy and Christine walk away, a happy bounce in their steps.

\--

Michael watches the engaged couple walk away, happily in love. He watches Jeremy especially.

He's still standing there with his four boxes as he watches Jeremy grin at Christine, teeth and all. He feels a weird type of Deja Vu, as if he's seen that smile before.

It comes like a flood. He remembers a warm smile underneath thick quilts. He remembers a mischievous grin behind a curtain of long ash-brown hair. He remembers a coy grin under dim lights. He remembers a sad smile behind the barrel of a gun. 

Jeremy is too far to hear him, but the words escape Michael's lips anyway.

“Have we met before?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. did i ever tell y'all that i love your comments
> 
> because baby,,,, i really do

**Author's Note:**

> me: i should work on my existing fics 
> 
> also me, posting another thing: what fics?
> 
> anyhoo, the song that michael sings is "Adored By Him" by dodie clark! it's too fitting honestly
> 
> my tumblr is @ssentenial! come yell at me


End file.
